


The Future We Lost and Found

by OwnerOfAllTears



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Blakefield, But I swear is there, Canon Death, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Joe Lives, M/M, Minor Violence, Minor depictions of death, No so subtle gayness, Sadness, Tom dies, Will Dies, headcanon death, survivor's guilt, tiny fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwnerOfAllTears/pseuds/OwnerOfAllTears
Summary: “You still don’t get it, do you? You haven’t even noticed what happened to you. You didn’t know right away what happened, like it did with me”Will finds he will have more than one trouble to reach the 2nd Devons. The first one being his own head.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Not Just Another War Movie





	The Future We Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackest_eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackest_eyes/gifts).



> This was intended to just be an alterative ending to They Shall Not Grow Old. Instead turned into a fic even longer than the original. So If you read that one you know how this is going to end but I promise the writing and feelings of the characters is entirely different. Also I apologize for any minor inconsistencies in the story. I'll revise it later on and probably fix them but I wanted this posted now

It was all too quick, far too quick to think it through. One moment he was quietly trying to sneak away from that girl’s hiding place, and suddenly he had murdered a young boy in cold blood, had Huns on his tail shooting at him, no riffle or ways to successfully launch his only grenade, and seemingly no way out of this town alive. His lungs would burst any moment, and his legs ached from overexertion. The dead weight of the webbing wasn’t aiding his cause either, but slowing down to undo the strap could signify death. All that was left was running like his life was on the line.

And it was.

The city felt like a maze, with no way out. A death trap. The sky slowly receded from its midnight black to a softer color, signifying that morning was getting closer and his chances to escape slimming down. But the clearing night seemed to hold a ray of hope for him. A cold, turbulent, foaming ray of hope. The river, 100 yards ahead of him after a long set of stairs and a crumbling stone bridge. 100 yards, may as well have been 100 miles. Would he be able to? Would his body resist the run? The footsteps had slowed down, but they still had riffles and he didn’t even have a helmet on.

It was a suicidal run, but also his only hope. He slowed down enough to take in a deep breath and clenched his jaw, running for it. Skipping down each four steps, he slipped halfway through them and rolled down to the foot of the stairs. No time to assess the damage, he stood and made a sprint, finally taking a leapt of faith over the edge of the bridge and falling 40 feet into the freezing river.

The bullets no longer posed a threat to him. Not when he was being dragged underwater by the rapids and the increasing weight of his now soaked webbing. His fingers froze and stiffened, making him unable to undo the waist strap. Every now and then he managed to emerge a split second, not enough to catch a breath or even a look around. Just giving him a false sense of safety, making him believe he’d be able to escape this hell where there was no up and down, not even gravity to help him find his way through. He kept sinking, down and down, the world around him darkening and growing heavier as he no longer found sinking down, down, closing his eyes. His last glimpse before slipping into darkness looked like a human figure, a man, reaching out for him.

Suddenly, somehow, his webbing’s straps came undone at last. His body lightened, swaying in the water, rising steadily up to the surface. When Will finally emerged, taking long and deep breaths, he couldn’t help but notice the water had turned white. No, no it wasn’t white water. It was just completely covered in cherry blossoms. They stuck to his face and hair, small, soft petals, giving the now calm river the appearance of being frozen solid. The trees above him were like clouds, the blossoms snowing down over his head. The sight was so magical, so ethereal, it made his chest tighten. Blake, oh Blake would have loved to see this. These were his trees. This was supposed to be his mission. His little medal. His life.

The beauty of the scene was cut short by the sight ahead. A fallen trunk cut the way of the river, holding anything bigger than a stick, piling trash and debris and forming a dam. As the water dragged him closer, he noticed what had been piling at the bottom of the trunk wasn’t debris. Those were…bodies. About a dozen of them, face down, limbs bloated by the water and having taken a sickly grey color. Men, women and children, civilians and soldiers, death hadn’t spared anyone. William was forced to swim over them to reach the safety of the river bank, lips tightly pressed and stomach churning as the corpses tangled in his legs, dragging him back into the water, as it they wanted to claim his life and force him to join the pile. But at last, by some miracle, he kicked free from their trap and collapsed on the bank, being sheltered by the weeping willows growing alongside the river. Despite the adrenaline, his body felt extremely calm. Not the same with his soul. How many horrors could a person withstand before finally breaking? Had Will reached his breaking point? Could he hold on enough to finish the task? His eyelids closed, face buried in the dried leaves in the ground. He didn’t want to find out; he didn’t want to suffer anymore. All he wanted was to rest.

The sound of music snapped him out of his trance. Not music, really. But someone was singing, the flowing melody coming from the depths of the woods. It was mesmerizing, snaring his senses and forcing him to follow the sound, to find the source of that voice, to drown in it. It was like a warm bath washing over him, a blanket of comfort. The source was a soldier, a private to be more precise, young and fresh faced, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet that young man had the power to keep a couple hundred men hypnotized, all sitting around him, in a silence so sharp you could hear a leaf drop. All that mattered was the song, the rustling of the leaves, the breeze drying his clothes and the petals still stuck to his face like soft kisses. A safe place.

Heaven.

The song had been so soothing, almost lulling him to sleep. The wake up had been abrupt, men grunting and cursing as they stood, loading their riffles and adjusting their webbing straps. They smelled of dirt and sweat and gunpowder. Their faces were tired, hardened, eyes empty of life, cheeks hollow with hunger. These men had been stripped of their lives and turned into soulless killing machines. Walking into two lines, they emptied the clearing, marching into the sunny field and down into a trench. A figure emerged from amongst them, standing under the only ray of sun the canopy of trees allowed to pass. With the paleness of his skin, and the sun framing him like a halo, he looked like an angel. And he must have been an angel, for he was supposed to be dead. The men left, the sounds got away, and all that remained on that clearing was William…and Tom.

He wasn’t smiling, not even looked remotely happy or welcoming. Yet for Sco he was the happiest sight he had ever laid eyes on. With his blushed cheeks and cherry lips, vibrant blue eyes, innocence plastered all over him, even in the way he stood and shyly held his hands in front of him. An angel who had come to save him, to give him the strength he needed to carry on. Even if it was just an illusion, seeing Blake like that, so real and alive, gave Sco the mental power to stand up and move, it warmed his heart and reminded him why he had gotten this far. For life. For the Devons. For Blake

The image looked so real, so solid, William thought he may even be able to touch his cheek. His boots dragged in the dirt, too heavy to be lifted, but eagerly wanting to approach such vivid product of his imagination. The moment they were face to face, Schofield couldn’t hold it any longer. He threw himself into Tom’s arms, very much aware that the spell would be broken the second the two of them touched and he’d tumble to the floor. But no, Will was able to bury his face on the crook of Tom’s neck, his arms clinging to the other’s body for dear life. It felt so real, how could his mind craft something so beautiful? Tears streamed down his cheeks, allowing himself to dwell on the embrace for one second longer before pulling away reluctantly, hands tenderly dragging across the boy’s arms, fingers caressing before letting go. Good things don’t last forever, and he had to walk away before he lost all of his will. The idea of moving on pained him, like he was letting go of the most precious thing he had ever held. Sco took a step aside, ready to follow the line of soldiers; but Tom, who no longer seemed to be an illusion, placed a gentle hand on the man’s chest to hold him back and whispered “No. Don’t go there”

No? Don’t go? Was his own mind trying to get him to fail? Right now, after everything he had endured to reach this point? The end of the journey was so close, he could taste it. Shaking his head, he pushed down Blake’s arms to go on, perhaps a little harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t believe his own brain was betraying him like this. But the dream Blake hit him back, pushing onto his shoulder to force Sco to look at him. They held each other’s gazes for a minute, Will looking dumbfounded, Tom trying not to cry. His glossed eyes shone brighter in the sunlight, and they stood so close, Will could even notice how his irises were darker in the outline and slowly faded nearly into morning grey in the inside. So beautiful. He could get lost forever in their color, shaded only by those doll eyelashes of his, casting shadows in his cheekbones.

It was clear the spell wouldn’t be broken anytime soon. If so, did that mean Tom’s memory would chase him forever? An eternal shadow always standing out of the corner of his eyes, an everyday reminder of what his irresponsibility had caused. A memorial of how many lives had been on his hands, and he had dropped them. How he should have done better. He owed Blake better.

Perhaps he had to face this, his final challenge before reaching Colonel Mackezie. Tom standing there in front of him, representing his own guilt. This was just another task to get past, another obstacle to defeat before he could finally find the 2nd Devons, and Lieutenant Blake. But time was running out and he didn’t have time for this deep, heartfelt conversation with his own subconscious. With one last hard whip of his arm, he set himself free from “Tom’s” grasp and ran towards the edge of the forest, where the decline of the trenches began. Not even five steps had been taken when someone wrapped their arms around his middle, forcing him to stop. The hands laced around his waist were small and chubby, childish but belonging to a man. William sighed and turned around “Tom, I have to go. I am sorry I can’t stay. I’m sorry I couldn’t do you better. Please let me go” It sounded stupid in his ears to try to reason out loud with his own brain, but maybe like this the visions would stop.

When their eyes met again, Tom’s were not longer holding tears, or shining like the sun. They were wide, full of worry and surprise. He looked just as confused as Sco did when they first came across each other in the woods “You don’t know, do you? You can’t leave, Sco. Not anymore. It’s too late” Almost as if on cue, the sound of whistles reached his ears, mixed with the battle cries as the first wave poured into the field. Not even 30 seconds had passed, and the shells were already sweeping the Tommies off the map. His breath caught in his throat. No. He still had time, if he ran fast enough; he’d make it to the Colonel and keep the rest of the battalion from going. But no matter how many ways he tried to escape and fight, Tom wouldn’t let him move more than a few steps, even taking it as far as dragging him back into the woods. Your own illusions shouldn’t be able to physically attack you. Maybe this was just a dream? He had fallen asleep somewhere mid journey, and any moment he’d wake up and realize he had lost so much time fooling around. Why wouldn’t he wake up?

William was losing his patience with Tom, and the feeling was clearly mutual. Tom lifted him by the waist, the momentum of the motion sending them both over their backs. Tom had definitely had enough fighting, and he pinned Will to the ground, sitting over his stomach and pushing his shoulders back with his hands “Stop! Don’t you see it? You can’t go Sco. Not anymore. Not ever again. It’s over, the mission it’s over. We failed. I failed you, and Joe” His tears fell on Will’s face, first a couple drops but then it was as if a dam had been broken, his lips trembling and his whole body was racked by painful sobs. “I am so sorry Sco. So sorry. If I had done things better, things wouldn’t have ended like this. You would have been okay, and everyone else had been okay. I am sorry, please forgive me” He wiped his cheeks with his sleeve and sat back, allowing Will to move. He had every chance to run at last, and maybe save a couple hundred men. But now, William Schofield was rooted to his spot, cheeks damp by tears that weren’t his own and trying to stop his heart from breaking. He couldn’t understand a thing of what was happening, and knew that the wake up from this dream would be too painful to bear, but if Tom needed consolation, even in his dreams, he’d give it to him.

Hesitantly at first, Will’s arms came around Tom’s shoulders, pulling the younger boy into a tight embrace; Tom’s tears now falling onto his neck. Perhaps this was the only type of closure William would ever have, so he intended to make every second of it worth it. For a moment they just sat there, their frames sheltered by the shade of the trees, embraced like one. From there you could barely see the battlefield, but the noises of the blasts and pleas of help blew in the air towards the woods, spreading everywhere the sounds of despair and desolation. It sent shivers down Will’s spine, until he forced himself to remember it was all a dream, a hallucination perhaps. Whatever it was, it wasn’t happening, he was just trapped into this nightmare, but he didn’t want it to end. He couldn’t bring himself to break the contact and let go of his last memory of Blake. Their last chance of a hug, of saying sorry, of being together, speaking words that they never got the chance to say.

Blake stiffened as the first shells made the earth tremble and foul smells of charred flesh and blood surrounded them, being almost an insult to such sanctuary of nature. The signs of battle seemed to stir something in him, making him grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut; forcing the tears to rain out of him harder “I killed them. I killed all those men and I killed you too. I am such a monster, I should have been better. I promised Joe I would be the best soldier and now I’ve killed him and you and 1600 men because I wasn’t smart enough” His voice cracked at the end, pulling away to bury his face in his hands, body racked by uncontrollable sobs. But Sco was too taken aback to even attempt to console him. Killed… _him_? What kind of sick games was his mind playing on him? His madness had gone too far, perhaps that hit to the head had really affected his brain. Dwelling on his own dream was affecting him, he had to move on, wake up, snap out of it, whatever to get back to reality. But that phrase…

Maybe if he tricked himself, he could bring the dream to an end. Give Tom closure to get his own “Tom, come with me. Let’s go together, to save your brother, save everyone. We can still finish this together and you will see Joseph again” He offered the sobbing boy a hand, just like Tom himself had done to him the day before, but Sco wasn’t met with the same reaction. Tom kept his tear stained face down, shoulders slumped in a defeated position, chin buried in his neck “You still don’t get it, do you? You haven’t even noticed what happened to you. You didn’t know right away what happened, like it did with me” Tom swallowed and stood, brushing dirt from his trouser and finally taking the hand offered to him “I didn’t want to do this. I really didn’t. But only this way you’ll see the true” Without further explanation, his fingers laced with Will’s and pulled the man back into the woods, undoing all the path he had done from the river. Past the clearing where the soldier had been singing and past the weeping willows.

They stopped right into the dam of bodies, Tom finally letting go. Before Schofield could even question anything, Tom walked into the freezing waters, sinking chest deep as he looked around the piles of bodies. He flipped them and checked them with ease, as if he wasn’t bothered by the gruesome scene. At last he seemed to find what he was looking for. He grabbed a dead man by the collar of his soldier uniform and dragged him closer to the bank. Will noticed how Tom didn’t seem bothered by the cold, despite always having been whiny about it, but that little detail was forgotten when he saw that face. His mouth fell wide open but not a sound came out. What could you say when you stare at your own dead body?

The sight was horrible, but Will was unable to take his eyes away. Staring at his own face, bloated and blue, eyes glossed like a doll and mouth hanging wide, full of dried leaves. The webbing was still strapped to his waist, acting like a dead weight with the extra burden of the water. Tom took a moment to close his friend’s eyes and let go of the collar, the corpse sinking to the bottom of the river. Blake’s gaze focused past Sco, instead fixing on the trunk behind him. It was as if Tom just couldn’t bear to look him in the eye “Do you understand now? Why I didn’t want you to go? I didn’t want you to have to see that…what’s about to happen. I hoped we could have this talk any other way, but you didn’t give me a choice. You’ve always been so stubborn” They boy sat next to Will, who was absolutely immobile, still staring at the place where his own earthly remains had sunk to their eternal resting place. Left to rot and be forgotten. An unknown soldier.

He didn’t think it possible for dead souls to cry, despite having seen Tom do so not so long ago; he was caught by surprise by the wetness of his cheeks when he rubbed his face. His thoughts had become tied and erratic. Nothing could ever prepare you to have to come to terms with this sort of events. If he had died in the war, it was supposed to end there, and leave the pain for others to deal with it. Yet here he was, sitting under a willow, having his own share of grief as he thought of his mother, his father, all of his family having to receive that official letter in the Monday mail. Is not like he had left a great life behind, he wasn’t the main provider of the household, nor had he formed a beautiful family of his own to be torn apart by his departure. He had lived like an ordinary man, in an ordinary farm in a small village. But the memories of that little peaceful routine just made everything more unbearable. He had never truly cherished the little things he had every day, and now they were lost forever. He wouldn’t even have a gravestone for someone to leave flowers. He’d just be another unknown soldier.

A gentle squeeze on his hand forced him to look up. Tom had pushed past his own pain to crack a smile, their fingers laced and shoulders brushing “Is not so bad, I promise. I won’t leave you alone. We will go on together” Even Sco had to admit the prospect wasn’t bad. He wasn’t facing this transition alone like Tom did. He had guidance, he had a loved one with him, and he’d never have to be alone. He wasn’t an unknown soldier, for Tom Blake knew his name.

They moved, hand in hand, past the fallen trunk with its gruesome surroundings, settling down a few yards down the stream; sitting under a blossoming cherry tree. The moment wasn’t exactly a happy one, but it was as happy as they could get under the given circumstances. Even there, so far away, they could still hear the brutal battle; their surroundings turning grim as their faces showed their own pain. The skies darkened, the water became turbulent as the wind blew strong, making the flowers bend under the strength, petals billowing in the wind, flowing smoothly like tears.

They had talked, cried together and had a nap, Tom sleeping in Will’s lap with their hands intertwined. Hours passed and the sun slowly sank into the horizon. Blake was growing restless, his leg bouncing and his lip getting caught under his teeth every few minutes. Sco didn’t have to ask. He _knew._ The only worry he had in this world.

His brother.

Blake didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to know. He said he wouldn’t be able to bear it if something happened to Joe. But Schofield knew that if they didn’t check, Tom would never rest in peace with worry. Liked it or not, they had to go and see. Their last mission; find Lieutenant Blake.

None of them were prepared by the sight of the field post battle. The charred land, scattered with bullet cases, remains of shells, and a good amount of unspeakable things, things both of them would rather not have to see at all. But they had to, search far and wide up the land and the trenches, searching for that one face. The sun was close to hide behind the hills, and Tom was losing all hope. Maybe his brother had been blown to pieces and he would never be found? Those dark thoughts haunted him until he heard his last name being called. He looked up, but noticed they weren’t addressing him.

Even with his arm in an improvised sling and a bloodied bandage across the forehead, the resemblance between the Blake brothers was uncanny. Joseph Blake was a bit taller, and bore clear in his face the signs of being a long term soldier. His eyes were the same blue, much colder and harder than Tom’s. His cheeks were more hollow, and he had a lean physique, rather than bulky like his little brother. His clenched jaw and stiffened back showed signs of a man who had lived through everything, had seen everything and had been conditioned to always expect an attack. Always tense, keeping watch. Only Tom was able to see past the hardened surface to see the man who had taught him how to ride a bike and tie a cherry stem with his tongue perfectly without telling what that skill was for. Tom walked towards his brother, while the other, unknowingly, walked into the same direction, stopping a few steps before their paths crossed. He looked as if something had made him stop. A change in the air, a chill down his spine, perhaps a feeling. Staring straight past his brother, ahead towards the woods. Tom caressed Joe’s cheek tenderly, swallowing back his tears as he pronounced words that would never be heard

“Take care of yourself, okay? You have to live and go back home. And take care of mama and Myrtle and go riding into town with Kereyak. You have to continue picking up the cherries because mama can’t reach the high branches. Go and marry Madeleine and have the four kids you wanted and get our house again full of life and laughter and make mama smile every day. Remember she wants a granddaughter and she wants Maddie to wear her old veil and for you to carry dad’s medals. Go on and live your best life; for me”

Joseph couldn’t hear, nor feel him. Yet, mysteriously to him, he became overcome with sadness; lips tightening as a single tear rolled down. They stood there, sharing their last moment until Blake was called “You okay, lieutenant?” Joe nodded and shook his head to clear his thoughts “Yes, yes I’m just” He cut himself short and walked away. It had just been a bad feeling.

Tom nearly collapsed into himself, overcome with the full realization of what future could have held for him, what he had lost too. He was just a boy, after all. A boy who still sometimes called for his mama, whom he would never see again. He was caught by Will before he could fall, the older boy protectively embracing the young Blake. Sco dried the other’s tears with his thumb and smiled “Come on Tommy, he is okay. And so will be you. I won’t leave you alone. We’ re together now”

Blake sniffled and rubbed his eyes. They walked silently away from the battalion, off into a nearby field dotted with chrysanthemums. Sunset slowly shifted into night, the sky fading into a mesmerizing shade of purple. Both soldiers laid in between the flowers, staring up at the beautiful show of nature; Tom resting slightly on top of Will, their hands laced. Very different lives had brought their paths together up to this moment; but both Tom and William could easily agree on one thing. Future wouldn’t be bad if they had each other. It wasn’t perfect, but together they would find their own way of perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't notice I'm really into ghost stories. 
> 
> Also as a little explanation, I HC that Blake's father was a soldier too, who died in the Second Boer War when the boys were just kids. It was his memory what pushed Tom to volunteer for the Great War
> 
> Kereyak is their old horse because why not


End file.
